


He Is Lightning

by kazural



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Gen, Lightning Generation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 12:35:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10278152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazural/pseuds/kazural
Summary: Lightning forks through the sky, and thunder follows, rumbling so loudly the street shakes. He doesn’t flinch. He keeps walking. He’s not afraid of lightning. He is lightning.It's storming, and Mako takes a walk to clear his head. Set a few months after the Book 3 finale. Slight Makorra.





	

Heavy rain pours down, cleansing Republic City’s dusty streets. Thunder booms and lightning cracks; people cower under awnings and peer out windows. While they’re waiting for the storm to end, the city’s quiet. Peaceful, even.

Mako used to hate rain. When he was little, he would let Bolin hide under a trash can lid while he tucked his scarf into his coat and curled his head in between his knees. Afterwards, it would take hours for their clothes to dry. More often than not, Bolin would catch a cold, no matter how quickly Mako got a fire going when he could find some dry newspaper.

Back then, he was scared to use his fire. He wasn’t good enough to bend without burning. He could never control his flames – could never let them caress skin lightly, could never give comfortable warmth instead of scalding heat. Again and again, he made mistakes. But he had learned from them. He had practiced, mastered, and then he was in control. Always. It’s hard for him to remember that time when he wasn’t.

Now, he has a place to call home, with a roof. Now, rain is just water. And water is... Water is just water. So when the rain pelts his face and soaks his uniform, he barely notices it.

Lightning forks through the sky, and thunder follows, rumbling so loudly the street shakes. He doesn’t flinch. He keeps walking. He’s not afraid of lightning. He _is_ lightning.

The waterfront is empty, like it is every time. Waves crash into the rocky shoreline. He moves closer to the spray. He’s already wet, what does it matter? If he were to look to his right, he would be able to see the Pro-bending Arena’s bright lights, and Air Temple Island in the distance. He doesn’t look to his right.

When he has solid footing on the slippery rocks, he brings his two fingers together and moves his arms in familiar circles. His breaths are even. His mind is clear. There is nothing. He is nothing. He needs to be nothing, if only for a second.

He feels the electricity coiling in his stomach, wills it to flow to his arms and down his fingertips, just as he’s done a thousand times before. It builds up to a crescendo and he points towards the sky, ready to release the power inside of him. He lets it go.

BOOM.

An explosion blows him backwards. It came from his fingertips and his mind can’t comprehend it while he flies through the air. He hits the rocks behind him hard enough that he lets out a gasp of pain as his breath whooshes out of his lungs.

 _No._ His head is dazed; it’s all he can think. _No. No. No._

He must have done something wrong. But he never has before. He rushes back to where he was standing and goes through the motions again, not one movement too slow or too fast. He is in control. He is calm. He is empty of it all.

BOOM.

This time he lays still on the rocks, his limbs askew and his eyes open. A bright strike jumps from cloud to cloud in the sky above, laughing at him, mocking him. He squeezes his eyes shut.

The rain pounds against him and he thinks that he could drown in it. Because rain is just water. But water is not just water anymore. Water laughs and yells and cries and fights and smiles when she blasts her opponent into a wall. Water grieves and rejoices and rages and suffers and always gets back up when she’s been knocked down.

She’ll get back up again. He knows she will. So he does too.

He leaves without looking back. Darkness swallows him as he walks home, ignoring the tingling in his fingers. The power’s out. The world is black. And when he has trouble seeing, a brilliant flame crackles to life in his palm. It’s as easy as breathing.

He will always have his fire, thanks to her. Rain still falls, but he doesn’t let it extinguish his flame. It dances with the wind, giving up ground, then taking it back.

One last lightning strike in the distance, one last muted rumble, and then the storm is over. A full moon emerges from the clouds and lights up the buildings. The sight of it makes him stop walking, but only for the briefest moment.

It’s late and he should have already eaten dinner. Hell, he should already be asleep. There’s paperwork to do in the morning. Mountains of it.

Tomorrow, everything will be back to normal, he convinces himself.

Tomorrow, it won’t rain.

Tomorrow, he won’t think of the ocean.


End file.
